“I know. I can see it now, and I’m sorry.” He sounds genuine. As though realizing he’s made mistakes too, he leans against the wall, draws a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and you’re right that this was all I knew how to do. I wanted my relationships to look a certain way from the outside, and maybe that’s why none of them lasted longer than three months—my record, as you so kindly pointed out. Underneath all the gestures, they were superficial.”
Some of the tension in my shoulders eases. He’s opening back up.
“Not entirely superficial,” I say gently. I don’t want him to be this hard on himself. They were coming from a good place—I know that now.
“And what you said before, about wanting you to fall at my feet? I was horrified when you said it, but I think that’s because, in a way, part of me did want that. And that wasn’t right at all. I thought if I did enough gestures, you’d eventually realize you wanted a relationship with me, despite how often you told me you didn’t. I wanted what my parents had so badly, and I guess I thought I could, I don’t know, conjure it for myself.”
“Force it, you mean.”
He grimaces. “That’s one way of looking at it. Maybe they were a performance, but… I don’t know, I still want to believe parts of them were genuine. That they were sincere, even though I know they weren’t. And I only know that because of what I had with you. But you showing up here, while I’m working… I don’t know, Quinn. It isn’t you. I don’t know what this is supposed to mean, aside from potentially pissing off a bunch of people who paid a lot of money for this day to be as close to perfect as possible. This is the performance.”
“It’s not. I swear,” I say, but maybe he’s right. I thought I could waltz in here, declare I’m ready for a relationship, and he’d want me back.
“Okay. Then tell me how you feel about me.”
I stare at the floor. “I like you,” I say in a small voice. I’m not sure I’m ready for what comes after that. The other word is too foreign, too grand. “You know I like you. Why can’t that be enough?”
“Because I—I loved you, okay?” He presses his lips together, like he didn’t mean to say it.
I loved you.
That word does something to my heart.
I loved you. Past tense.
“I loved you for a while, knowing you didn’t feel the same way,” he continues. “Then, when I thought there might be a chance, you confirmed over and over that you were never going to return those feelings. You went out of your way to tell me, even when we were doing all these things that made us feel like a couple. It was a mindfuck, Quinn.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Tarek. I’m so sorry.”
“I forced myself to be fine with it, but I’m not anymore. And I’ll gladly accept some of the responsibility here. It’s my fault too. I wanted too much that you weren’t going to give, and I’ve accepted that. Maybe we can even be friends again, one day. But right now I can’t be around you.”
With that, he walks forward, and a bearded man in a suit approaches me, a stern expression on his face. “Excuse me, miss,” he says. “Are you supposed to be back here?”
“Don’t worry,” Tarek says. “She was just leaving.”
And as Julia and I are ushered outside, I finally know exactly how I feel about him.
Brokenhearted.
“I won’t ask if you’re okay,” Julia says. We’re sitting on top of the big hill at Gas Works Park, watching the boats on Lake Union.
“Appreciate that. Appreciate you.” I grab a fistful of fries, swipe them through ketchup, and stuff them into my mouth.
After we left Capitol Hill, Julia rushed us around to pick up what she declared were all the best breakup foods: fries and chocolate milkshakes from Dick’s Drive-In, sloppy slices from Ballard Pizza Company, and nachos from a nearby taco truck. We haven’t said anything in a good twenty minutes, and that’s one of the things I love about this friendship. We’ve known each other so long that our silences aren’t uncomfortable.
“I know it’s hard,” she says after a while. “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t just mean what happened with Tarek, but with my parents, too, and everything this summer that’s made me both more and less uncertain about who I am, about what I want. Tarek, who loved me. Who doesn’t anymore.
“I’ve felt so lost this summer.” I try to laugh because it sounds so melodramatic, but nothing comes out. I take a slurp of milkshake.
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone I know has found their passion so easily. You with painting, my parents and Asher with weddings.” Tarek with baking. “And it doesn’t have to just be one thing, either. Even now, I love what I’m doing with Maxine, but maybe I want to keep it as a hobby. I’m not sure.”
“You have time,” she says, and I’m trying so hard to believe that. She rests her head on my shoulder. “Maxine came to you when you were least expecting her. Maybe this will too.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been invisible these past couple weeks,” I say, and she lifts her head. “I just… shut down. I didn’t know how to process it except to, well, not process it, apparently.”
Julia’s quiet for a moment, then: “Yeah. About that. I need to say something.” She rakes a hand through her long hair, pulling it over one shoulder. “I needed you. When you were being invisible.”
Her words shock me into sitting up straight. “Shit. Oh my god, Julia, I am so sorry. What happened?”
“Nothing major,” she says, holding up a hand. “I’m fine. Mostly fine. It was just, Noelle left. For an early-summer start. And even though we’re doing long-distance, I had some doubts, I
